War Hero
by aranenumenesse
Summary: The war is over.
1. War Hero

Title: Homecoming

Author: aranenumenesse

Email: aranenumenesse at yahoo dot com

Rating: NC-17

Summary: The war is over

Series: War Hero

Category: AU

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I just loan them for a while from Marvel and 20th Century Fox.

Archive: Go ahead if you like it. But please, notify me if you take it.

Spoilers/Continuity: No spoilers

Genre: Dark

Author's notes: Thanks for everybody for comments. You really helped me to pull this through, and now I realize there's more of this. Thank you, again! 

After long grueling years of war he had come to her. Now he was standing at her doorstep, shoulders hunched, grim, hard lines marring his visage, soaked through from the rain. His hair was slicked back against his skull. Gone were wild ear-like peaks. He had lost weight; hard muscle had been replaced with stringy tendons. Series of numbers decorated his left cheek just below his eye, and she recognized them immediately. Same numbers she had been carrying with her ever since he had given her his dog tag, all those years ago. There was writing below the line of numbers. "Model: destroyer Code: Wolverine" There was a metal collar around his neck.

"We have been instructed to release it under your supervision. If you could sign here and here…" She took papers from the men escorting him and scribbled her name hastily to indicated lines. Men took the papers and turned to leave.

"Wait! What about his collar?" She shouted after them.

"We were unable to remove Wolverine's personal weapons. Under no circumstances should you remove it," other man shouted over his shoulder. They stepped to the truck and drove away.

She took his hand and led him inside. Her house wasn't big, but she had two bedrooms, kitchen and a bathroom. He followed her mutely there, and just stood when she undressed him. Clothes were tattered and dirty scraps, some of it too big even for him. When last scrap of them fell from him to the floor, she couldn't stop the sob that escaped from her. She could practically see every bone in his body, jutting sharply through his skin. There were old scars criss-crossing all over him, some white and thin, some as wide as her palm, angry red and purple. She trailed one especially nasty looking softly with her fingertips from his right shoulder to left side of his navel. He flinched, but stood on his ground, staring off to distance.

"Lets get you cleaned up…" Her voice was thick. Tears stung in her eyes. Five long years she had waited and prayed for his return. All she had gotten back of the man she loved was a dried, used up husk, a walking corpse.

He was cold and hungry. Female unit smelt vaguely familiar, but he discarded that notion fast. No use to wallow in past. She was better left forgotten. This was now. He had been assigned to a new camp. Female was most likely his new mechanic. He was hoping she could do better than the one before her. Man had been careless drunk, and had often left him for days without food and adequate shelter in the field.

Logan stepped under the shower voluntarily, but didn't make a move to wash himself. He just stood there, staring dumbly at the wall in front of him. She took the sponge and squirted generous amount of gel on to it. Climbed in the tub after him and started scrubbing him clean.

This was something new. Warm water and soft sponge. He suppressed the satisfied sigh that threatened to escape. Usually they just hosed him down with cold water after battle. Sponge traveled over his shoulder blades, dipping lower, scratching his skin lightly with every stroke. It felt too good. He closed his eyes and shivered. His mind was reeling. He braced his hands to the wall and leaned his forehead against his arms, granting the female better access. He was quite sure it was allowed. He felt her fingers again, trailing faded scars on his back, just below his right shoulder blade. Shrapnel from a grenade. Hand trailed lower, finding tangled mess of coarse skin just above his buttocks. That one had taken him out of commission nearly for a full day. Sniper had blown out his guts. He had lain in a puddle of shredded innards couple of hours before anybody noticed he was missing. Not a nice feeling. But they had taken off the collar quickly after that and let him heal. They needed him to take down that sniper before he got anybody else.

She urged him to turn around. He obeyed, observing her every move silently with dull eyes. She added some gel to the sponge and started lathering his front side. Small muscle in his throat ticked slightly every time sponge slid over his nipples. She worked methodically, making her way from his head towards his toes. There was a blank look on his face when she reached his crotch. No reaction when she touched him there, cleaning him with bare hands.

Female was efficient and thorough. Not many of his mechanics had bothered to clean his privates. He wasn't allowed to touch there himself. After the incident, when they had slapped the collar on him, it had had some less desirable results. Quite a few nasty infections had settled in. They had pumped him full of antibiotics and it had taken care of the problems. No more hot coals in his lower abdomen, no more wetting himself. Female kneeled in front of him and started rubbing his legs clean. Good. Good God in heaven. He hadn't had any idea his legs were this sensitive. He had worn heavy combat boots for years now, and he had thought they would have chafed all the feeling off from below his knees.

"Can you lean forward a bit?" She asked, indicating what she meant by placing her hand over his neck and pulling slightly. He bent his back obediently, hint of curiosity lurking in his eyes. She squirted some shampoo to her palms.

She was going to wash his head, too? They had probably told her about the lice-problem. Well, it really hadn't been problem for a while now. Not after they gassed him to get rid of those critters. Gas they used burnt off his hair as well, but it worked, and hair grew back in a few months. He closed his eyes, preparing for the inevitable sting. They used quite strong stuff when they wanted him to a presentable condition. Then he opened his eyes again, surprised. Instead of painful burning sensation he felt only her fingers massaging his scalp. There was a hint of vanilla in the air. It smelled almost exactly the same Marie had used. Better not to think about her. Not now. Not ever. He concentrated to the female standing in front of him. She looked familiar in a comforting way. She was dressed as a civilian. Perhaps they weren't so strict with the code in this camp.

Warm water cascaded over him again. She had instructed him to put his head under the spray and rub with his fingers. All right. He could do that. That wasn't forbidden. But it was easier to wait instructions than to act. He had learned that quite quickly after first whippings. No touching. No talking. No sleeping. No breathing. No living. Not unless they told you to. At first he had disobeyed every possible rule. He had been daring enough to escape. They had caught him surprisingly easily. Maybe that locator, placed inside of him, just above is liver, had something to do with their swiftness. For some reason they had removed it before relocating him to here. Maybe they had changed it to a newer model. He had tried to dig the old one out couple times, but both times he had accidentally shredded his liver. That little bugger was so fragile that all it took to puncture it was a small nick. Not a good thing to do if you wanted to stay conscious.

He looked more at ease immediately after she started telling him what to do. He rinsed himself, took the towel she offered and dried off.

"Are you hungry?" She asked. He nodded little hesitantly

"Good. Put this on, and we'll go and make something to eat," she said, giving him her bathrobe. Under any other circumstances it would have been absolutely too small to him. Now it engulfed his worn and battered form easily.

She reminded a bit one man he had known years ago. Earl. He had been a mechanic, too. Older, grandfatherly figure. Earl had been taking care of another unit. His own mechanic had gotten shot, and he had been temporarily assigned under Earl's supervision. Earl hadn't been exactly thrilled.

"You make one peep, and I'll put a hole through your skull. Understood?" He had asked, stabbing him to chest with one, chubby finger. He had nodded. Earl had led him to his tent. His own unit had been already waiting there. Messenger. No name. Had to be a clone. Small, limber and agile looking girl. From the sight of him she had retreated to the furthest corner, hissing and shivering. Without his collar he would have sprung his claws. With it on he had to settle just to a menacing growl. And then messenger had attacked, kicking, and biting. Earl had separated them. He had been dangling the messenger from the back of her jacket in front of his face, close enough that it saw his tattoo.

"See? It's one of our own." He had plunked the messenger back to ground, and then turned back to him, smiling almost apologetically.

"She's a little spitfire." He had spent one night with Earl and his Spitfire. Earl had offered him generous amount of food. Spitfire had offered him little more after she had been sure Earl was asleep. Back then it had still mattered. Gentle touch. Pleasure that being inside of another living being evoked. Few days later he had been gathering intel behind enemy lines, and came across Spitfire again. She had been agile and limber no more. Rigor mortis had settled in. He had dragged the cold corpse back to Earl. Old man had actually thanked him, shaking his hand and squeezing his shoulder.

"Take care of yourself, buddy," he had said.

They had eaten in silence. For some reason he seemed extremely reluctant to speak. She put it out of her mind, labeling it stress related. You didn't go through five years of hell unscathed. He did, however, seemed to pay serious attention to her every move and word. Every time she asked something he did it. Passed the salt, poured himself some milk, took second helpings.

This was good. Food. His body needed the fuel. It had been over eighty hours when he had last eaten. Just after he had gotten back from the field. Rations. Usually he got two pouches of proteins and few capsules of something he couldn't identify. This time he had gotten double the amount. He wondered if they had noticed what he was doing to replace the lack of food? Hell, every unit did it. You did it to survive. Bodies were so mutilated to begin with, nobody noticed if there were some pieces missing. He usually chose soft and small organs. Easy to swallow, full of nutrients. He had heard of one guy, who had developed serious issues about it. They had given him a new name. Tepes. He had taken up drinking blood. He had been stupid enough to get caught red handed, so to speak.

"We'll just leave the dishes. I'm wiped. Are you tired?" She asked, stretching and yawning widely. She actually wasn't that tired, but Logan looked like he was ready to fall asleep at any minute now, eyes hooded, swaying slightly on his seat.

Sleep? She was going to bed now? He should probably go to sleep too. They didn't like it when he was shuffling around while they slept. Made them feel uncomfortable. One of his mechanics had gone as far as to shackle him in the corner every night to keep him at bay. He didn't sleep that much back then. Didn't need to. That was before they put the collar on. After that he needed sleep just like anybody else. At first it had been quite scary, to be that tired. He had tried to stay awake, but his body simply refused to obey. Finally he had given up.

"You can sleep in there. Linens are clean; I changed them yesterday. I'll see you in the morning." Leaving him to his own devices, closing the bedroom door behind her, was probably hardest task during this whole evening. She would have wanted to cuddle next to him, under same blanket, just to feel and hear him breathing, to know he was alive and there with her. But somehow she got the picture he wasn't ready for it.

Clean linens? She gave him a bed? Only times he had slept in a bed during these years were those when somebody had needed his services. That hadn't happened so often, last three years not once. They tend to steer clear from battle units, and chose more pliable ones. They preferred clones. Safer that way. Clones weren't fertile. And they were prettier. Battle units carried scars, and like him, often cases in-built weaponry. Not so big turn on in bed.

"Christ! Would you look at that!"

"Yeah. No way to remove those. Look at that tattoo. It was built before war."

"And we are supposed to turn it loose?"

"Just leave the collar on. There's an address it's supposed to be taken. Lonely woman, Probably a mutie, too. A wife! Christ! This one's got a wife!"

"It was legal before the war."

He woke up. That had got to be the weirdest dream so far. A wife? He snorted. He didn't have a wife, that much he remembered. There had been no one. Nobody but Marie. She hadn't been a wife. She had been just a kid. Just a kid, and so much more. It hurt to think about her. She had been his life. Everything good in it came from her. Everything he was before the war. At the lab they had taken away the man, giving him claws and will to kill. She had restored what they had taken from him. She had done even more. And now he couldn't even remember her face. Everything else from her he remembered. Her scent. Their conversations. How she moved and talked. And that god awful baggy, green cloak she wore. She had given him a piece from it when he left. He had lost it. He wasn't sure when. He had held it when he had lain in the puddle of his own blood and shit. It had been raining. There had been no feeling below his waist. He hadn't dared to look. Hadn't wanted to know. Later they had told him there had been only his skeletal structures left from below his ribcage to his toes. He had lain there, staring at that small tattered piece of green cloth.

She lay wide-awake. She had tried reading. It wasn't working. Logan was here. Just a thin wall separated her from him. Just a thin wall, and five years. She wanted to go to him, and erase those five years. Make them disappear. She wanted him back so bad it hurt.

"Are you awake?" Whisper from the door. Female stood there. He turned to look at her, to show her he had acknowledged her presence. She walked to him and climbed to bed next to him, on top of covers. He expected her to strip and get on to business. Instead she just lay there, placing her head on his chest.

"I couldn't sleep." They usually didn't come to him for comfort. This was weird. He was a living, breathing reminder of all that was expecting when you opened your eyes next morning.

"Could you… Could you hold me?" Hold her? Maybe she was just shy? Or needed this? Needed a little foreplay? Wanted to pretend they were something else than just expendable pieces of machinery? Well, he could do that. He wrapped his other arm around her, placing his hand on her hip. She sighed and cuddled even closer.

"Do you mind if I stay here for the night??" He didn't know what to do. Did she expect him to answer that? Probably. Was it okay to talk now? They sometimes wanted him to talk.

"No. I don't mind." Words sounded weird. Scratched his throat. There was something wet on his face, rolling down his temples. She fumbled a bit, and placed her hand over his chest, palm ending on top of his heart. Her whole body was tense. Why was she doing this if this made her feel uncomfortable? Surely she could go and pretend with somebody else? They didn't encourage relationships between units, but there was no actual rule against them.

"I have missed this. I know it sounds stupid. We never slept together, but…" Poor thing. He knew exactly what she was talking about. First year had been the hardest. He had never slept with Marie. Not slept with her, not fucked with her, and yet he had missed both acts with her. Well, she would get over it. Had to get over it. One could go nuts out there if didn't learn to numb one's feelings.

"It will get easier." She hadn't punished him for talking, so it was safe to assume he was allowed to speak now.

"I'm glad it's over. You're finally home. I missed you so much…" She started to stutter, and gave up, burying her face to his chest. She was crying now.

Home?

"Uh… What do you mean? Over? Home? What is this?" He pushed her away from him and stood up, heart hammering. She was still crying.

"Didn't they tell you? The war is over. You don't have to… You don't have to go back… You're home now."

Well that would certainly explain the way she had treated him, to some extent. But it didn't explain why he was here. Home? He didn't have a home. And if she wasn't a mechanic, who the fuck she was? And why the hell he still wore his collar? Was this some kind of rehabilitation program? If that was the case, they could just remove the collar, then.

"Take this off. Now." He was leaning closer, yanking the collar around his neck.

"I can't… They didn't give me the keys." He was struggling with it in earnest now, fingers curled around it, cursing and pulling.

Fuck it. He could do it. Had done it before. He closed his eyes. Had to be quick. Quick enough to cut all the way through before blood loss did him in.

Oh, no. He wasn't going to… She screamed when claws shredded their way out from his hands. Within a second both of his arms were almost black and swollen, blood flowing from wounds between his knuckles. Soft clunk when collar fell to the floor. Then he was on top of her, claws back in, but other fist pressed threateningly against the soft underside of her jaw. His breathing was harsh and labored, and he looked like he was ready to keel over at any second.

"Who the fuck are you, and what is going on in here?" She could feel tips of his claws, digging in to her skin. For a moment she contemplated on turning her skin on, but that would most likely kill him to the spot. And that wasn't something she was ready to deal with.

His mutation kicked in slowly. He started to hear her heartbeat. Fast and erratic. He could feel texture of her skin against his straining knuckles. Soft and warm. There were small golden flecks mingling with brown in her eyes. White strands of hair on her forehead. Just a few. For some reason she had been plucking her hair from there. Last one to return was his sense of smell. Message that came through was enough to release her and back off. He knew that scent. Knew it well. And he had nearly maimed her. Finally there was a face he could connect with the rest of his memories.

He sat outside. It was still dark, but only in few hours sun would rise. This wasn't happening. Warm, tingling sensation washed over him. They had never left him free this long. They had slapped collar on as soon as they were sure he was able to go on. Now his mutation was working overtime, repairing old scars, getting rid of dead tissues. This simply wasn't happening. He had spent years forgetting her. Now all those memories were coming back, linking together with the face he had found. It hurt. His brain hurt. His gut hurt. Torn look on her face. Scent of fear and disappointment masking vanilla and peppermint.

He groaned and wrapped his arms around him, swaying back and forth. He didn't dare to close his eyes. As soon as he tried, he saw her under him, blinking back tears, scared out of her wits. And she had never, ever before been scared of him.

He had just gotten dressed, she had been keeping some of his old clothes for him, and walked out. Had he left? She was slowly collecting her courage. She got up from the bed. Small trickle of blood escaped from her throat to the front of her nightgown. He had nicked her. Just a little, nothing life threatening. But he had nicked her. Never before. And he hadn't known her. She went to her room and locked the door behind her. She wasn't ready to go out and see if he had truly left. Not yet. She curled on her bed and closed her eyes. Conjured up a memory from past. Logan sitting on a swing at Xavier's front porch, smoking a cigar and smiling.

Last one to go was a tattoo on his cheek. He could feel when it started to fade. Soft burn when his metabolism ate the ink. Few hours more, and nobody could tell what he was. Where he had been. What he had done. Nobody. He could just leave. Away from her. Away from her face and life. His memories were now complete, and he had gotten even some extra. But that didn't matter. He could forget. He had gotten quite skilled with it. He could just take few nice memories about her, and forget the rest of them. He had done it before.

He started to get up, when suddenly door behind him opened. Small hands wrapped around him from behind, and he could feel warm breath tickling his neck. Soft lips pressing a single kiss to his skin.

"Welcome home, Logan."

"Don't." He tried feebly to shrug off her hands around him, but she held on tightly.

"I want you to come inside. Now. It's cold out here."

"No." Then the scent of her blood wafted to him and he bolted to his feet. What had he done?

"I can't even heal you. I can't. I don't want you to see me. I don't want…" He trailed the little brownish red path with his finger, from her jaw to her breasts where it ended.

"I don't want you to heal me. I don't need you to heal me. I need you. All of you." He saw from her eyes she was telling the truth.

"There's not much left, Marie. Maybe nothing. Is that really what you want?" He whispered, afraid of what she would answer.

"Come home, Logan. Come home with me. We can make this work."

He sat down again and buried his face to his hands. That was the answer he had feared for. There was no way he could leave now. He felt like throwing up. Like crying and screaming. Claws were itching. He was itching all over. Now that he had broken the collar, there was no way to stop that itch. No way to escape. He was trapped. And he wasn't absolutely sure if it was a bad thing.

She knew she had won when he started to cry. Silent sobs, face hidden to his palms. She had seen him like that only once before, right after Jean's death. Right after he had killed her. So now that it was safe to assume he would be here when she woke up, she returned back inside. He needed to deal with things on his own before he was ready to come to her.

All those years memory of her had kept him going. One time he had gotten caught, and spent less pleasant week behind enemy lines. They had kept him sedated so they could use him for entertainment. Marie had been there, in his hazed dreams, holding him, guiding him through it all. When the camp he had been held as a hostage was destroyed, his mechanic had found him crawling from the ground, naked as a day he was born, covered with sweat, blood, semen and other bodily fluids, and grinning like an idiot.

"I saw an angel." Well, after that he had seen pretty horrible things, when they had pumped his system full with some shit which was supposed to clear his head, but that was an entirely different story.

"I have got to pull my shit together. I can't keep relying on you. Not anymore." There was newfound strength in his posture and his words, when he stood there leaning to the doorframe.

"You deserve better than what I have to offer right now. I don't want you to settle to second helping from the government. Let me go."

She watched his retreating back. This time he hadn't left his tags with her. There was no need to. She already had those, and now she had even more. His promise to return.


	2. Hero's Return

Title: Hero's Return

Author: aranenumenesse

Email: aranenumenesse at yahoo dot com

Rating: NC-17

Summary: "It is me, kid. And it's good to be back."

Series: War Hero

Category: AU

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I just loan them for a while from Marvel and 20th Century Fox.

Archive: Go ahead if you like it. But please, notify me if you take it.

Spoilers/Continuity: No spoilers

Genre: Romance

Author's notes: Brief epilogue. I may continue down this path later.

"… And then that fucker had the guts to tell me to fuck off! Can you believe it?" No. Honestly she couldn't believe how somebody had had the guts to listen this asshole longer than ten minutes. Office rat. Dressed as a biker. "Regular" in a biker bar. Yeah, honey. Tell me another good one.

"But that's enough of me. Tell me, what is a girl like you doing in a place like this?" And jokes are getting older every minute…

"Waiting for me. At least I hope so." Low, gruff voice from behind the jerk. Her whole face lit up upon hearing those words, and she brushed past wannabe biker who had tried to pick up her.

"Logan! You're back!"

She couldn't believe her eyes. Just six months ago he had left her. Walked away. Broken man in tattered clothes, barely keeping himself in check. There he stood now, looking like his old self. Wide grin, cocked eyebrow, those impossible hair and muttonchops. She flung herself to his arms squealing from joy. Logan chuckled and wrapped his arms around her.

"Hi, kid. Missed me?" Missed him? That was an understatement. First weeks had been roughest. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't eat. She couldn't breathe. But his promise to return eventually had kept her going. Now she was rubbing her face to his chest. Solid, warm chest, all muscle. His hands around her secure and warm. Shoulders wide and straight.

"It really is you this time. Isn't it?" She wanted to be sure. She leaned her head to his chest, face turned upwards, trying to capture his gaze.

"It is me, kid. And it's good to be back." He smiled and planted a soft kiss on top of her nose.

She couldn't keep her hands off from him. When he ordered a beer she stood behind him, hands wrapped around his waist, face pressed between his shoulder blades. When they walked to the table she clung to his hand, running her fingers over hard muscles over and over again.

"Come here…" Logan smiled and scooted her to his lap. She sat there, straddling him. He pressed his forehead against hers, locking his eyes to hers. What she saw made tears well up inside of her. Warmth and joy filled his gaze now. There was not a trace of the hollow husk that had stood on her doorstep just six months ago.

"What have you been up to?" She asked. She was still straddling him, leaning her head against his shoulder. His other hand was wandering on her back, drawing lazy patterns.

"The usual. Drinking. Fighting. Thinking…"

"Where did you go?"

"Canada. I have a cabin up there. Spent winter there."

"So, getting a regular beating and freezing your nuts of does this to you?"

"Well, usually I'm the one doing all the beating…" Logan smirked.

"But I think I did freeze my nuts off. At least it felt like that. Maybe you should check if they're still there?" He continued. She wiggled on his lap, rubbing her hips against his, concentrated look on her face.

"Oh, no need to worry! Feels like it's all there!" She giggled when his lower parts took a raising interest to her presence.

"Maybe we could see later if it still works properly?" Logan whispered to her ear, lifted her off from his lap and went to order another beer.

Works properly? Was he really talking about what she thought he was? About the very thing she had been dreaming from the beginning? Or was he just his old self, throwing teasing innuendoes to left and right?

"Logan… About that test-drive… Were you serious?" She asked when he returned, placing a shot of tequila in front of her.

"Yeah."

"You do remember we never…"

"I remember how things used to be. I'll be straight with you. I want you. In every possible way." She threw back the shot, grimacing the bitter taste of it.

"One thing I learned during those years. Life is fucking too short and expendable. No use beating around bushes. If you want me, you'll have me."

"What the hell are we waiting for then? Next Christmas? Lets go!" She stood up and dragged him after her, leading him out.

"My bike's parked there." She walked to direction he had pointed.

"Went to see Xavier, and they still had it," he explained when her eyes landed on his old motorcycle. Black and chrome. She felt little like crying when she sat behind him, wrapping her arms around his torso. Just the way they had used to do dozens of times before the war. Happy, lazy days at Xavier's, perfect for fixing the big monster now purring under her. Perfect for little trips to surrounding countryside. She pressed her face between his shoulder blades when engine roared. Few tears rolled from her eyes.

She was crying in earnest when bike rolled to a halt in front of her porch. Logan cut of the engine, and for a moment they fumbled awkwardly, but finally she was sitting in front of him on the bike, face buried to his chest, still crying.

"Hush… We don't have to hurry. I didn't mean we had to do everything now. We have got time…"

"No! Don't you dare to back out on me now!" She pummeled his chest with her small fists. He grabbed her hands easily with one of his own, and lifted her face with his other hand.

"I'm not backing out." He lowered his face and brushed her lips with his. Soft kiss, warm puff of air, scent of beer and tobacco.

"I just want you to know we have no hurry. We'll go as slow, or as fast as you want to," he continued, wiping tears from her cheeks with his thumb. He released her hands, and she brought them to his face, stroking gently his muttonchops, combing her fingers through his unruly hair.

"I have waited for nearly nine years for this moment. I think I'm entitled to be little hasty and emotional," she whispered and leaned to kiss him.

Kiss they shared now was deeper. Her hands were roaming over his body, slipping under his jacket, trying to push it off from his shoulders. Logan chuckled softly when she whined and tried to tug open the buttons of his shirt.

"Little hasty? Maybe we should take this inside before you take me here. Don't want to offer a free show to neighbors…" He stood up and scooped her to his lap. Her lips latched to his neck, just above the jugular, and her blunt teeth grazed it lightly. That tore low growl from his chest. Suddenly his jeans were all too tight and clingy.

Combined scent of their arousals filled the small room. They had gotten as far as to her kitchen. She had bit his throat, hard. He had slammed her against the fridge, and in less than a minute her clothes were off and she could feel his cock throbbing at her entrance. His forehead was pressed against hers. Eyes screwed tightly shut. His whole body shuddering.

"Don't… This is too fast… I don't want to hurt you…" He hissed when she nudged with her hips, trying to pull him deeper. She wrapped her legs around his waist tighter, and let go of his shoulders, taking his other hand to her own, guiding it between their bodies.

"You won't hurt me…" His knees nearly buckled when he felt her sex under his fingers, all wet and ready. He stroked her slick folds lightly before guiding his cock there again.

Short grimace crossed her face when he sunk in, breaking through a barrier. He stopped moving, first confusion, then pride and sudden shame clashing inside of him.

"You haven't done this before?" Her legs around him trembling a bit, insides constricting from discomfort.

"Kid, look at me…" When she opened her eyes he took a gentle hold from her jaw.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It doesn't matter. You're first. That matters to me…" His lips, nearly crushing hers with a bruising kiss, cut off longer explanations, and he started to move his hips, easing in and out of her tightness slowly.

"Marie…" There was a frantic, pleading look on his face. He was ready to come. She wasn't, not by a long shot. She smiled and stroked his face.

"Let it go… We have got time." As if on command, she could feel him harden and lengthen inside of her. He clung to her even tighter, and cried softly when he came. He leaned to her panting, nearly crushing her between his body and the fridge door. She didn't mind. She loved to feel his hard and warm body against hers. All too soon he pulled out and backed off from her, letting her legs slide back to floor. When her knees buckled he cradled her to his arms, carrying her to the bathroom.

She stood in the bathtub and he cleaned her gently, spreading her lower lips with his fingers, massaging her sore folds with lukewarm water from the shower. When he was done he helped her out and wrapped her to a fluffy towel, pushing her to toilet seat.

"Wait there." He washed himself and dried of. Picked her up again. Carried her to her bedroom.

"Can I stay?" He asked almost shyly when tucking her under a blanket. She nodded, little surprised of his timid behavior. He lay next to her, curling his massive body around hers, sighing contended.

"I love you, Marie."

Strange beeping sound pulled her out from her slumber. Bed was cold and empty. Logan was gone. At first fear washed over her, but then she heard his voice from the kitchen. He was talking with somebody. A phone. He had gotten a cell phone? She couldn't hear the words, but judging by the tone of his voice conversation would be soon over. She sat up and wrapped the blanket around her. It smelled like herself, and Logan. It was warm. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up." Logan stood in the doorway. There was a smile on his lips, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Xavier called. He wants me to go back." He started collecting his scattered clothes.

He was leaving. After all these years she had gotten him to herself for few hours, and now he was leaving. She clutched the blanket around her tighter, trying to keep her face neutral. She was not going to cry. He had fulfilled his promise. He had promised to return. He had never promised to stay.

"Scott arrives in half an hour," Logan said, hopping on one leg, tugging his jeans on. She nodded. Didn't dare to speak.

"Oh, God I hate flying. But this is urgent…" Logan muttered, looping his belt on. She focused her eyes to the dangling belt buckle. Suddenly it disappeared from her view when Logan crouched in front of her and tilted her face upwards so that he could look her straight face-to-face.

"I'll be back later tonight."

"Oh…"

"Yeah. You really thought I was going to leave you? After what happened?" She nodded dumbly and started peeling the blanket off from around her. Logan licked softly her exposed nipples before planting a brief kiss on her lips.

"We have some unfinished business. You're not only one who has been waiting for nine years. And after those years I'm not satisfied just for a quick fuck against your fridge. I want more."

Later that evening when he returned, he proved his words. For several times.


	3. Cannibal

Title: All Fall Down

Author: aranenumenesse

Email: aranenumenesse at yahoo dot com

Rating: NC-17

Summary: There was no laughter. Only sympathetic look on Magneto's face.

Series: Cannibal

Category: AU

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I just loan them for a while from Marvel and 20th Century Fox.

Archive: Go ahead if you like it. But please, notify me if you take it.

Continuity: Continuation from Hero's Return (War Hero)

Genre: Dark

Author's notes: As promised, story continues. This part is not for squeamish. Apologies in advance.

She had never really understood what Logan had gone through during the war or what it had done to him. He had returned to her, looking like he had gone through hell. He had left her again, only to return six months later, looking like his old self again. Now she was watching the beast he had shackled away during those six months he had been gone, crawling on his hands and knees without eyes, tracking his prey with scent alone. Sabretooth was dancing around him, raining taunts and insults, as well as good placed kicks from now and then.

She had been returning to her car from the market, carrying two large paper bags, planning what she could make for dinner. Black, unmarked van had pulled to halt next to her, side door open, and strong, hairy arms had pulled her inside. She had managed to see a glimpse of a smirking face before they covered her eyes with black cloth.

"Inform the runt. We have his bitch."

"Do you have any idea what that husband of yours is doing when he is away from home? When he is supposed to be in Westchester, helping Xavier?" She couldn't see the owner of the voice, but she knew him still. Goosebumps rose to her skin and she shivered. Magneto.

"Let me tell you… He works for Xavier, that much is true. I believe he has told you he teaches self defense?" Magneto was clearly waiting for an answer, so she nodded. Magneto laughed softly.

"Clever guy… He isn't a teacher. He's Xavier's hitman. Xavier has no heart to put his kids in danger, so he sends your husband to take care of worst problems. From what I have seen, our dear Wolverine has started mixing entertainment with work. I have proof. Videotape. Would you like to see it?" For that she shook her head. What ever was on that tape, was most likely false information, distorted and manipulated.

"Why do I even ask? Of course you would like to see it!"

Cloth had been removed from her eyes. Huge screen on the opposite wall had flared to life. Image was crystal clear, most likely filmed in this same compound. She noticed structural and material similarities on background with this room she was held. There was a room filled with mutants, all shapes and sizes. Some were carrying different weapons and guns, some seemed to be confident to use their own mutation. Suddenly door was kicked in. Somebody stood in the doorway. She squinted her eyes. Logan. It was Logan. Wearing black leather suit, uniform of the X-Men. Several shots echoed, and he went down, falling heavily on his face to the cement floor. When some of the mutants approached him, true carnage was unleashed. Mere five minutes later Logan was only one still standing, covered with blood and other secretions from head to toe, blood and little shreds of flesh dripping from the tips of his claws. Sight of it made her sick, but that wasn't anything she hadn't known. She turned her questioning gaze to Magneto who stood smiling next to the chair she had been tied to.

"Patience, my child. Best part is coming…" Old man said, pointing towards the screen, where Logan was crouching now, and poking a steaming pile of innards.

She couldn't stop screaming before Magneto slapped her hard on the cheek. Logan was a cannibal. Anything else she could have understood. Not accepted, but understood. Anything else. Another woman, drugs, anything but this. Anything but that half-man, dropped on his haunches and chewing through still beating heart, clearly enjoying it. This had got to be some sort of cruel joke. Soon everybody would start laughing. Anybody? Now would be a really good time before she wet herself or vomited.

There was no laughter. Only sympathetic look on Magneto's face.

"He has to be stopped. I doubt even Xavier knows about this. We have told Wolverine where you are. He will come for you. And then this all ends."

Logan had come, crashing through warehouse doors with his bike, blood and gore gleaming in his eyes. Mystique and Toad had gotten maimed, but before his death Toad had managed to cover half of his head to sticky, glue-like substance, sealing off his eyes. He was blind when Sabretooth joined to battle.

"I don't need to see you to kill you. Your stench is bad enough to gag a maggot, furball…" Sabretooth had swept him off from his feet, stomping hard on his lower back. She had heard a snap, and for a moment all life had been gone from Logan's limp body. Sabretooth had been dangling him from the back of his jacket, pummeling his head against iron support beam. Logan hadn't made a sound, but suddenly Sabretooth was down, screaming and holding his lower abdomen. Logan had stood little unsteadily, looping something slippery and shiny around his left wrist. Sabretooth's intestine.

"I have a gut feeling, that what ever this stuff is, it's quite vital for you…" He started and gave the bundle a good, swift yank.

"So I should probably be very careful about what I'll do with it. Right?" Sabretooth screamed and kicked him, but there was no power behind his kicks anymore. Logan crouched next to him, leaning closer to his face and smirked.

"Hurts like a bitch, doesn't it?" His other hand patted Sabretooth's torso carefully, until he found his neck. He grabbed Sabretooth's hair and lifted his head, looping the intestine around his neck couple of times. Then he continued lower, tying his hands together with the same horrendous manner. Sabretooth had stopped screaming already, and just lay there, staring at him mutely.

"Why don't you take a bite, war hero? Show that little wench of yours what you really are…" He suddenly grunted. That stopped Logan for few seconds. It looked like he was actually contemplating the offer.

"No thanks. I'm not sure if my mutation covers food poisoning."

"Wolverine, my dear boy… Be a good little soldier now, and let Victor go, before I snap her pretty neck!" She tried not to scream, but it was hard when Magneto wrapped his fingers around her neck. Logan stood up and turned his head to their direction, tilting it, and suddenly he reminded Marie about an old commercial. There had been a dog, listening to an old gramophone.

"Marie?"

"I'm here. Please, do as he says…" Magneto cut off rest of her sentence by covering her mouth with his hand. Logan started walking closer.

He could hear her heartbeat. Smell vanilla and peppermint. Fear. Same kind of mix he had smelt year ago. She was afraid all right. And not just because of Magneto. She was afraid of him. What the fuck was going on?

"Want to let her go now? It's me you're after, not her!" He shouted, trying to determine her exact location. She was at ten meters range, somewhere in front of him. He could hear Sabretooth struggling to stand up somewhere behind him. Fucker was a fast healer. Faster than him.

"We had a very interesting conversation before you arrived. I showed her quite entertaining movie, too. I must say you have a very peculiar diet…" Nausea gripped his stomach. She knew now. After this he could just pack up and leave. There was no chance in hell she would tolerate him in her eyes anymore.

"Just let her go. You don't need her anymore." Every word he could pull out from Magneto would help him to locate them.

Just as it looked like Magneto would let her go, Logan roared and leaped, crashing against him. His grip around her throat tightened momentarily, then suddenly went slack and he fell to the floor, Logan on top of him. Logan moved quickly, pressing his fist against Magneto's forehead, and she could hear a sickening crunch when his claws pierced old mutant's skull. Then it was over. Logan just lay there. Sabretooth groaned and pulled himself little unsteadily to his knees. Logan lifted his head and turned his face to his direction.

"Stay down, Vic. I don't want to hurt you more." Surprisingly enough bigger mutant obeyed, laying down and trying to sort out the mess Logan had left his guts.

They sat outside, on his bike. He was cutting off sticky goop that was covering his eyes.

"Is it true?" She asked, voice shivering.

"Yeah. True enough. I did it. That's why I have been at Xavier's so often. Therapy."

"Magneto… He had some footage of you… He told me you are Xavier's hitman."

"True. Xavier doesn't want to get his hands dirty. And I kind of owe him. He put my head back in order." Logan had gotten his face cleaned up, and turned face-to-face with her.

"You weren't in Canada?"

"No. I was in a patted cell at Xavier's." She turned her gaze away, and he could smell her tears.

"As soon as we get home, I'll pack up and leave. I won't… I won't come back, if that's what you want. You don't have to see me anymore."

"If you ever need anything, call Xavier. He'll know how to contact me." He was standing in her small kitchen, backpack slung carelessly over his shoulder, grim lines on his face. She couldn't help thinking how they were back at square one again. Both hurting, and he was leaving.

"Can I keep this?" She lifted her gaze from the tablecloth. Ring she had gotten him. They weren't officially married, but one sunny day they had decided to make their union more noticeable. They had gotten rings for each other. Pure silver, two hands clasped together. She couldn't bring herself to actually say the words, so she just nodded. He shuffled his feet awkwardly, stepped closer. Placed a soft kiss on top of her head.

"Good bye, kid. I love you."


	4. Decision

Title: Decision

Author: aranenumenesse

Email: aranenumenesse at yahoo dot com

Rating: NC-17

Summary: You have to make your decision, Marie.

Series: Cannibal

Category: AU

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I just loan them for a while from Marvel and 20th Century Fox.

Archive: Go ahead if you like it. But please, notify me if you take it.

Continuity: Continuation from Hero's Return (War Hero)

Genre: Dark

Author's notes: This is getting even darker. And here I was thinking I could follow the same rollercoaster as I have done with the rest of my fics, sugary foof right after angst and darkness… Looks like this isn't all there yet. Maybe some more later.

This wasn't happening. She closed her eyes when clawed hands tore her thighs a part. This wasn't happening. Strong legs were forcing her to open up even more. Heavy weight of the man's body forced air out of her lungs when he slammed in, cock hard and hot as a poker, but it didn't matter. It really wasn't happening. And when it was over, and man was licking tears from her face, thanking her, she didn't really hear his voice, because he wasn't there. He wasn't there before he left, locking the door behind him. Finally she was able to curl to a tiny ball around her throbbing and aching body, and curse him.

She had been on her way to the library, when suddenly, out of the blue, motorcycle had roared past her. Her first impulse had been to wave at the driver, but she had held her hand down. It wasn't Logan. It would be Logan never again. So instead she had concentrated to the cracks on the pavement under her feet. Sound of the motorcycle had suddenly risen. Hard hand had tangled around her waist and she had dropped her book bag, when driver had snatched her off from the street, lifting her sitting securely between his legs. She hadn't dared to fight, not in the speed bike had been going. They had driven nearly an hour, out from the city; following rarely used narrow dirt paths at the outskirts of it. Bike had finally stopped in front of a ramshackle hut in the middle of nowhere. Driver had gotten off from the bike and taken off his helmet, and it was time to scream.

She woke up and grimaced. Blood and semen had acted like glue during her short nap, smearing her thighs together. Her skin prickled when she tried to move. Narrow cot creaked alarmingly when she rolled down from it, on to her knees to the cold cement floor. There was a bucket in the corner. No running water, just a bucket to take care of her natural needs, and another bucket filled with cold water in another corner, for drinking and washing up. Once a day he came, brought food and used her, then left, leaving her behind locked door. And somehow it all would have been much easier to bear if he didn't thank her after every time.

"Relax, kid." She was sitting at Xavier's front porch on a swing. Logan was there, sitting on a porch railing, leaning his back to the support beam.

"How have you been?" She asked. Logan smiled his crooked smile.

"Not bad… But I heard you're not feeling so peachy." She shrugged her shoulders.

"At least I'm getting it regular basis, now."

"Right. Why don't you drop him? I know you can."

"I don't want that creep rattling around in my head. It's enough he's rattling around in other parts."

"Is he that good?" Logan asked.

She pulled herself out of that image and crawled to bucket to throw up. Christ! She couldn't even daydream anymore! She leaned her head to the wall and wiped her mouth groaning. Felt something hard and cold against her cheek. Ring. Logan's ring. She hadn't had the guts to take it away. She tore it off and threw it away. It clinked and skittered over the floor, ending under the cot. She scrambled hastily after it and fished it out, putting it back on her finger. She wasn't ready for that. Not yet. She gazed towards the door. Small patch of light filtered from under it. It was fools hope. She had broken all her nails trying to shimmy it open. It was heavy and surprisingly sturdy. Whole shack was made out of metal.

Evening came. Man came with food. She ate, and then man came again. Distantly she was worried about the end result of all the coming he did. She sure wasn't going to bare his child. She wasn't ready for that. Only child she had ever even contemplated was Logan's, and now even that little critter was out of her reach. No mini-wolverines running around. No white picket fence. No comfortable wicker chair on the front porch. No family dinners on Sunday afternoons. She didn't dare to think what Logan's idea of a casserole would be.

"You know, I have been there. In this shack of yours. You were there, too. Not the most pleasant hotel. Rude employees, crap for food and housing arrangements leave room for improvement. But I made it through. Kept thinking about you. Talked with you. In a way it was the best week of my life. Just the two of us, no pesky interruptions." Logan was back. Sitting in her cot, rubbing the soles of her feet.

"You do realize you're not real?" She asked, moaning a bit when his fingers found particularly sweet spot, just below her toes. Logan chuckled.

"I'm as real as you want me to be. Turn around, I'll do your calves." She did as he asked. Strong, warm fingers started to massage her sore muscles.

"Why didn't you kill him?" She asked.

"Who? Victor? I didn't want to. He wasn't a bad guy per say, Magneto had just gotten him confused."

"A bad guy? That guy is boning your wife on daily basis, and he's just confused?" She couldn't believe her ears.

"I didn't say he was sane. And don't think even a minute this is about you. It's me he would like to be doing. He's not doing this to get his rocks off. He's doing this to humiliate me, like I humiliated him back in that warehouse." All the while he was talking, Logan's hands traveled higher.

"And again it's all about you…" she muttered almost sleepily.

"No. It's about us." His hands were kneading her buttocks now. Funny how it didn't hurt. She knew she was black and blue from there, as well as her lower back, too.

Angry growl of motorcycle disrupted her feel good session with Logan. This time there was no food. This time man didn't touch her. He just sat there, staring at her. Then he started to talk.

"I liked you better when you screamed." She didn't answer. She didn't even blink. Maybe this time he would leave for good.

"Maybe it's time to tell the runt where to find you. I'm getting tired of waiting him to find out himself. And he was supposed to be the smart one…" Go ahead. Tell him. See if he comes.

"Won't… Come…" With Logan it was easy to talk, but talking with the man hurt. Hurt her swollen and cracked lips. Every breath chafed broken bones in her ribcage together. From the sound of her voice man laughed.

"I heard you had a little disagreement. But he'll come." How come he was so sure? Logan had made a promise. He wouldn't come unless she asked him to.

"Rogue?" Voice was distantly familiar. Not Logan. Again it called her. Suddenly Professor was there with her. There was somebody else with him. She could feel cold, calculative mind.

"I have a lock on her. How do you want to do this?"

"Alone." Both of her guests disappeared. She didn't mind. After all, Professor had been just a professor, distant figure behind his enormous desk. He had never rubbed her back like Logan was doing now, nimble fingers finding all the knotted muscles and nerve endings.

"Where were we before we got so rudely interrupted?" She didn't answer. He would pick up the conversation from where he wanted anyway.

"Why the hell it has to be so hard? You, know, I haven't slept so good lately. Not after I left. Xavier uses big words, and tells me I have issues." This was interesting. Daydream was having issues. Did that mean she was losing her mind?

"No. You're not losing your mind. You're surprisingly sane, considering it has been almost six days already. At least you're still talking."

"Yeah. But just for you. I don't like to talk with him. It hurts."

"Won't hurt much longer. I'm coming to get you out. Just sit tight and keep on screaming when he wants you to.

"You're coming for me? Not that other?" Logan's fingers were stroking her scalp now, and it felt so good.

"I had to ask him to help, but he has no claims over you. You can stick with me, if you want to. Or I can leave, too. It's up to you what happens after you get out." She turned on her back and took his hands on her own, rubbing them between her palms. There was no ring on his finger. He noticed her confusion and smiled sadly.

"I'm just a daydream. He's coming for you. He has the ring. You have to make your decision, Marie."

Screams and sounds of scuffle from outside. Something heavy lands on the door. Whole shack around her is shuddering, door gives up and opens. Sabretooth falls in. Something dark stalks in after him. It doesn't talk. It grabs him from the collar of his furred cloak and pulls him on his feet. Cold metal flashes. Sabretooth is screaming again. Scream ends to a gurgling sound, when Logan slits his throat, almost severing his spine. Then he drags Sabretooth back out.

She can smell gasoline. She follows them with numb legs. Logan has hacked off Sabretooth's legs and arms, and is pouring gasoline all over him.

"I told you to stay down. Should have listened," he barks, leaning close enough that bigger mutant can hear him. Then he backs off and digs a booklet of matchsticks and a cigar from his pocket. Lights the cigar and throws still burning matchstick to still breathing pile of severed limbs and organs. Gasoline lights up instantly.

"Scott waits there. I'll stay and make sure this bastard burns," he says, pointing towards dark SUV parked to a small distance from the pyre. Stench of burning flesh caresses her when she takes couple steps, closing the distance between them and embraces him.

"I want you to come home, Logan."


	5. Closure

Title: Closure

Author: aranenumenesse

Email: aranenumenesse at yahoo dot com

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Don't fret over what you feel. Just feel it

Series: Cannibal (Epilogue)

Category: AU

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I just loan them for a while from Marvel and 20th Century Fox.

Archive: Go ahead if you like it. But please, notify me if you take it.

Continuity: Continuation from Decision (Cannibal)

Genre: Dark

Author's notes: Last part. No more. This is making me sick.

She had been crying a lot lately. Always in the night, behind closed bathroom door. She probably thought he didn't know. Didn't notice when her body suddenly tensed in the middle of a dream, and she bolted from the bed. Walked calmly in complete darkness and closed the door silently behind her before switching the light on.

He hadn't interrupted her sessions. Not once. If she needed him, she would come to him. Now he was severely tempted to go after her. Scent of her blood wafted from the small wet patch on the sheet where she had lain just few minutes ago. He reached his hand and brushed the patch with his fingertips lightly. Still warm. Marie and another, faint but distinctive marker. Victor. A month. She had managed to carry nearly a month. Small wonder considering her condition.

He sat up and swung his legs to floor. It wouldn't hurt to ask if she needed anything.

She wasn't crying anymore. If anything, she looked only relieved when he stepped in to bathroom. She stood in front of full-length mirror, naked as a day she was born, hands placed over her lower abdomen. Small streaks of blood colored her inner thighs. She didn't even flinch when he stepped behind her, cupping her breasts with his large palms and pulling her against his warm chest.

"Feeling better now?" He asked. She reached with her hands and pulled his face against her neck, where he could smell her scent alone, smiling softly, tears still streaking her cheeks.

"Is it wrong? To feel this good?" She asked. He nibbled her jugular lightly with his lips.

"No. It's over now. Don't fret over what you feel. Just feel it," he murmured, caressing her abdomen, feeling the slight constrictions inside of her. Wondered briefly if there was something seriously wrong when sight of his mate getting a miscarriage made him only unbelievable horny. Discarded that thought.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up. I have early morning tomorrow."

That had been two weeks ago. Ever since she had gotten more distressed every day. She was jittery and nervous around him, falling stuff, stumbling over things, blabbering nonsense about this or that friend, reeking of arousal and fertility to high heavens. Nights were worst, when she lay next to him, cuddled against him, and dreamed. Skin glistening from sweat, hands caressing his body, soft moans escaping from her lips when she rubbed her sex against his thigh, smearing him with her juices. He didn't know how much longer he could take it without taking her.

He missed sex. Just being inside of her. Feeling the warmth, and her body wrapped around him completely, but he was insecure of what to do. How to approach the issue after what she had gone through. His own experience at POW camp had left him angry and vengeful. He hadn't gotten his revenge. It had gnawed him, until one night they had brought a prisoner to the tent next to his. When his mechanic had left with his drinking buddies, leaving him seemingly asleep, he had sneaked to prison tent. Another destroyer lay there, shackled from head to toe, mutilated beyond recognition. When he had approached him, his eyes had opened and surprisingly coherent gaze had locked to his face.

"Do your worst." He had put him out of his misery quickly and painlessly, leaving the body for guards to find.

He had gotten his closure that night. He was worried what would happen if he gave in to his urges with Marie. He didn't want her to associate Sabretooth's brutality to their relationship. Or what was left of that relationship. It was fragile enough as it was.

"I need this. I need you." She had him cornered, his back against the cold tiled bathroom wall, hands braced on both sides of his head, legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Her lips were hovering only inches from his, eyes searching his, pupils fully dilated.

"Marie, I…" She didn't let him finish his sentence. Her small hand grabbed a firm hold from his hair, yanking his head backwards, baring his neck. Her teeth latched on to his throat none too gently, nearly breaking the skin. He hissed when tears welled up to his eyes. She was grinding her crotch against his, tearing his shirt open.

"Either you give it willingly, or I'll take it…" It wasn't a threat. It was a promise. Scent of her arousal was strong enough to nearly suffocate him. She managed to tear his shirt away from his shoulders with her other hand. Other still held his head on a death grip. Bite mark on his throat was slowly fading. Beast in him rearing its ugly head. And suddenly it broke free, howling in triumph.

She was flat against the wall, panting, scratching and biting, blunt teeth and nails drawing blood. With a swift move he had divested her from her pants and opened his. He was buried to the hilt inside of her throbbing core, teeth locked firmly around her shoulder. He could taste her blood and arousal. Taste of them spurred the beast to continue. She was whimpering and convulsing, pulling him deeper with every stroke, until he was sure with next one he would skewer her uterus. She was coming again. He had lost count of how many times orgasm had already rippled through her system. And every time she screamed and pleaded.

"Give it to me… Give it to me now… Make me yours again…"

His bones were melting. All organs turning to pure liquid. Brain, guts, muscles, even adamantium mixing together. He was dying, and at the same time living stronger than ever before. Shy smile on her face, soft fingers on his face, coaxing him through it all, pulling out last vestiges of darkness, life and death still residing in his body.

He was shivering. Aftershock. He couldn't make himself move from where he had collapsed. He knew he had to be crushing her, but he couldn't make his body obey. He cracked open his eyes and met her gaze. It was serious, but warmth had returned to her eyes. She was practically glowing inner light.

"I think we are going to make it."


End file.
